


Eternity

by hereliesnils



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereliesnils/pseuds/hereliesnils
Summary: Lister wakes up in his afterlife. Someone has been waiting for him.A sequel of sorts toAfterlife
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	Eternity

The first thing he noticed was the warmth. Not warmth from an air vent, or an engine, or a blanket, but from the sun. Opportunities to feel the heat of a sun had been few and far between for most of his life, even more so in the last few years when leaving the ship took far too much effort. 

The sound of waves registered next, then the cries of seagulls. 

Lister sat up. His bare calves were smooth and free from blemishes. That was not how he left them. He grabbed a fistful of his dreadlocks and pulled them in front of his face. Black, not grey. 

“Smeg,” he said, “I did die.”

He looked up from his own body and into the expanse of blue sea and sky spread out before him. His hands came to rest on fine, white sand. Lister twisted to look back at palm trees and lush forest. A vast hill rose from the vibrant green land, and he could see a town near the summit. It might not have been Fiji, but it was how he had imagined it. 

And there, carved into the space right behind him, was a house. A garden full of flowers spilled out on one side and spread all the way to a fenced-off field. Four horses, a sheep, and a pig stared back at him. The sheep was the first to set off in a happy skitter that sent them all charging to the gate. 

Lister heaved himself up from the sand, still moving like an old, old man, then tore across the beach with all the energy of a twenty-five year old. He clambered onto the gate and leant over until he felt six slightly gross noses snuffling against his skin. They all looked well-groomed and full around the middle. There was something familiar about the horses that he couldn't put his finger on, and he decided they were probably an amalgamation of parts from every Western he'd ever watched. 

The garden was harder to explain. A vast floral arrangement hadn't been part of his fantasy, and it was neat to the point of fussiness. Lister dragged his eyes over the flowers and up to the house. Someone was sat in the window with their back to him. Lister could only make out the outline of a fuzzy head, but it was a fuzzy head he could have picked from any line-up at a thousand paces. 

“See ya later, guys,” he extracted himself from the menagerie and hopped from the gate. 

He regretted greeting the animals first when he noticed quite how wet his arms were. He wiped the mixture of dribble and snot on his shirt, pleased to see it blended in with the print, and made his way through the garden. The figure in the window hadn't noticed him. He followed the path around the side of the building until he reached the front door. He lifted a fist to knock, let it drop to his side, and raised the hand to the door knob instead. It turned, unlocked, and he stepped inside. 

“Lister?”

He had only been in Rimmer's presence moments ago, but not like this. That Rimmer, artificially aged but incongruously strong, had lifted him from their bed and carried him down to the medi-bay. That Rimmer had curled up next to him and whimpered for what felt like hours. That Rimmer's sounds of heartbreak had increased in desperation as Lister's hearing faded. That Rimmer had clung to him and stroked his face until he couldn't feel anything any more. 

This Rimmer was young, so young. Lister had forgotten how skinny he had been before his shoulders and chest had broadened like he'd hit a second puberty post-death. His hair was longer and wild in a way it hadn't been for a long time. There was no H on his forehead, but it was the jeans and white t-shirt that made Lister feel like his brain was doing backflips. 

“Are you-?” Lister stopped. _Are you my Rimmer?_

“If you ask me if I'm dead, Listy, I'm going to go ballistic.”

“No,” Lister said, “do you, y'know, know?”

“I realise you're dealing with the shock of death and the existence of an afterlife but you're not making much sense.”

“Are you-” Lister started, “are you the Rimmer who died in the accident or are you the one that just lay there with me while _I_ died?”

Rimmer swallowed and let his chin drop to his chest. Lister waited for him to meet his eye again. When he did, it looked like there was the weight of many years behind his gaze. Lister hoped that he wasn't just imagining it. 

“Both,” Rimmer said. 

Lister dragged his hands down his face. 

“Go on,” his voice was muffled by his fingers.

“I've been here since the accident,” Rimmer said, “I woke up on the beach and there wasn't anyone here. I could see the town up on the hill but figured it'd be full of the crew or my family or _both_ , so I thought I'd just stay here.”

Lister tried not to make a sound.

“Then I found the house, and the sheep, and the cow, and the horses, and realised I was in your heaven. Just my luck! Here as a caretaker until you came along and slung me out. But then I felt strange. If I stopped and let myself-”

He paused to force out the next word.

“- _feel_ , then I could tell what was happening. Where you were. It was like watching it and being there at the same time. I could carry on here but I was always aware, I always knew, and sometimes, sometimes I had to sit down and close my eyes if what was happening was too frightening or, oh I don't know, just too much.”

“Like what?” Lister's voice was gentle, but he was allowing himself to smirk. 

A flush spread from the neckline of Rimmer's t-shirt up his throat and to his cheeks. 

“You know,” he said. 

“How was it for you?”

It was strange, flirting to test the waters with someone you had spent most of your life with, especially when you had shared a bed with them for a good chunk of it. Lister was expecting a flustered reply, maybe an insult, but instead he found himself watching those youthful features soften. 

“I've been with you almost every day,” Rimmer said, “but I've missed you.”

That was enough. Lister crossed the room in three strides and pitched forward into Rimmer's lap. He set a knee either side of his hips and took his face in both hands. It was Rimmer who surged forward to close that last inch between them. Lister expected it to be like the first time, with all Rimmer's clumsiness and panic. Instead, it was the kiss of someone who had kissed him a thousand times in the body that never had the chance. Rimmer's hands ran up his sides, and it felt so sure, so possessive. In return, Lister slid his arms around Rimmer's neck, spread his thighs until they were flush with Rimmer's hips, and grabbed a handful of the curls at the back of his head. 

“You're here,” Lister said against his mouth, “you know, you remember.”

Rimmer made a gasping noise and started to nod with all the frantic energy of a wind-up toy. Lister tightened the grip on his hair to make him stop, and kissed him harder when it didn't work. Rimmer tilted his head, like he had finally learned maybe the fiftieth time they had kissed, and splayed his roaming hands. They pressed close to each other, the loops made by their arms tightening, fingertips pressing hard, and Lister was certain he could feel Rimmer shaking. 

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Rimmer jerked away from his mouth.

“Why?” he said.

“I'm sorry you had to be the last one.”

“It was always going to be that way.”

“Can't have been nice though?”

“No, it was pretty dreadful. It might have been worse than dying.”

They were close enough for Lister to hear Rimmer's throat working. He knew that sound. It meant that Rimmer's eyes were going to start brimming, so Lister extended him the mercy of easing his flushed face into the space below his chin. Lister swayed and stroked his hair. 

“Can you feel what you're doing there right now?” Lister said. 

“No.”

Lister didn't push it. He knew what that meant.

“Have you been on your own all this time?” he said.

“More or less,” Rimmer said. 

“The Cat?”

“He lives with his _harem_ ,” Rimmer said with a shudder, “but he comes to visit when he can _extract_ himself, usually to ask if you're here yet.”

“No Kryten though,” Lister said. It broke his heart, it really did. If anyone deserved eternity lounging on an island paradise it was Kryten. 

“Who do you think did the garden?” Rimmer said. 

Lister pulled back and studied his face for any unwelcome mockery. To his relief, Rimmer only looked aggrieved. 

“How?” Lister said. 

“I have no idea. I don't like to think about the mechanics of this place just in case it all falls into a black hole because I questioned it. Kryten just appeared the day he stopped working.”

It was impossible not to flinch at those last few words. It forced the memory to the forefront of Lister's mind, and the thought of the Cat's last days were not far behind. 

“Where is he?” Lister said.

“Bored of me already, Listy?”

“Rimmer, as soon as this stops feeling totally mental, I promise you I'm going to-”

“Sir! It _is_ you!”

He barely had time to turn around, let alone remove himself from Rimmer's lap, before the sound of clodhopper feet on the floorboards stopped right behind him and he felt the full force of a hug from a mechanoid who had missed him very much, sir. 

***

Kryten insisted on cooking them dinner. He was adamant all he needed to make a place feel heavenly was a garden and a crew to take care of. They were hardly a crew any more, but Lister wasn't sure if it was the right time to introduce another word. 

Over the frankly obscene spread he put out for them, Kryten told Lister that the Cat only lived a little way up the beach. He did, however, make it very clear that it would be unwise for Lister to turn up unannounced lest he walk in on “something” and that it would be advisable to wait for the Cat to visit rather than risk seeing “anything.”

They left him humming and tidying, and decided to go for a walk in the opposite direction to the Cat's den of sin. Lister waited until they hit the sand before he reached out for Rimmer's hand. He'd always thought it was funny that it was one of the last boundaries they had crossed back on the ship. It was long after they first hugged, first kissed, first had sex, first _fucked_ so loud and long that poor Kryten had taken to wearing earmuffs as a precaution when he swept the corridor, and even after I love you, that Rimmer had let him hold his hand when they walked side by side. 

The sun was starting to set, and Lister realised that not only was it going to be his view every night for the rest of eternity, but that he couldn't be happier about it. There was another view he was dizzying happy with, but he wasn't quite sure why it was a certain way. 

“D'you know why we look like this?” he said.

“What, young?” Rimmer said. 

“Well, yeah, I just didn't expect you to be this you.” 

“I'm in my prime!”

“You look how you looked when you hated me.”

“I never hated you.”

“You did,” Lister bumped against him with his shoulder. It sent Rimmer staggering and kicking sand everywhere until Lister reeled him close again by their joined hands. 

“ _You_ hated _me_ ,” Rimmer said. 

“I only gave you aggro if you provoked me!” Lister said. 

“Are you saying I started it?”

“Yes!” 

“I never hated you,” Rimmer repeated, then mumbled something else. The only words Lister caught were “fancied you.”

“Okay, okay,” Lister said.

“I thought you'd like me like this. I can change.”

“Can I?”

“Would it make you feel better?” 

“I think so, yeah.”

“Right then, on three?”

“Gimme one sec,” Lister pulled Rimmer around to face him and reached out to grope his arse with his free hand. 

“Ready.”

Rimmer flushed red again. 

“On three,” he said.

“One, two, three!”

They both squeezed their eyes shut. 

“Ready?” Rimmer said. 

Lister opened his eyes. Maybe it would be fun to swap back every now and then, just so he could sink his hands in that stupid hair and feel those skinny hips between his thighs, but for now he was relieved to see a broader, older Rimmer stood next to him. His Rimmer. 

“Oh I'm ready alright.”

***

He had Rimmer's t-shirt pushed most of the way up his torso before the front door had closed behind them. Rimmer slapped his hands away, leaving the t-shirt rolled up under his nipples, and alternated between peering around the room and glaring at Lister's sniggering face. 

“Kryten's left us to it, come on, he's not daft.”

Lister slid his hands under the last few inches of fabric covering Rimmer's chest and revelled in the yelp it elicited. 

“You've always loved that,” he half-spoke half-mouthed into Rimmer's neck. The yelp faded into a whine as he rubbed and pinched, then built up to a groan when he ran his fingertips down Rimmer's chest to his stomach. 

He had once commented that he could work Rimmer like an instrument. Rimmer had replied that it must have been such a relief to find one he could actually play. Lister had taken this as a compliment, told him he would keep improving his fingering and tonguing, and earned a look of blended shock, aggravation, and arousal that was so striking he could conjure it in his mind at any moment. 

Rimmer crashed back against the door. Lister's fingers had dipped below his waistband at the same time that his teeth grazed his neck, and Rimmer was like one of those old wooden toys, if you pressed the right spot he would collapse in a jumble of limbs. Lister wedged a knee between his thighs and slid an arm around his waist to keep him steady. Rimmer's breath hitched when Lister palmed the front of his jeans, and he started to buck against him, making the door creak in its frame, gasping out Lister's name.

“Easy, easy,” Lister said, “lemme take you to bed, yeah?”

He made to move away, but Rimmer's hands gripped his shoulders and his thighs squeezed around his crooked leg.

“Are you not gonna make it that far?” Lister said. 

Rimmer shook his head. His mouth was parted, his nostrils flared, and sweat was starting to gather at his hairline. 

“Bed later?” Lister said. 

“Yes,” Rimmer said. It came out like the desperate breath of a drowning man.

Lister steered him in a semi-circle and walked him backwards to the seat by the window. He thought of his silhouette earlier, how it was the first indication that everything might be okay, and how much more than okay it turned out to be. 

They were back in the same position as before. Rimmer decided to fumble with the buttons on Lister's shirt at the exact moment that Lister went to rip off his t-shirt. There was a tangle of arms, and Lister won, forcing Rimmer's up to tear it over his head.

“How d'you want it?” Lister said.

“Like this, in my lap, hurry.”

Lister clambered to his feet. It was necessary, but that didn't stop Rimmer looking bereft. Lister bent to kiss him while he unzipped his shorts and pushed them to the floor. He had never had to get Rimmer out of a pair of jeans but those tight velvety trousers he insisted were regulation uniform had given him more than enough practice. Lister wrenched them over his hips, then tugged down the oh-so-predictable white boxers underneath, watching Rimmer bite his lip as the fine fabric passed over his skin. 

“I know,” Lister said. 

“Hurry, Listy.”

It was nothing new. Rimmer's first was always fast, and sometimes he was just fast and often throughout. But Lister guessed that he wanted their first together in eternity not to end before it had really started. 

“Do you have-?” Lister started. 

Rimmer scrabbled for the handle of the cabinet next to the seat. Lister stooped to open it and was both relieved and alarmed by the array of bottles and god knows what else sat inside. Later, he decided, he would ask if Rimmer had just willed them to be there that moment or if they had been waiting for him in that cabinet for all that time. He picked a blue one just because it was the colour of Rimmer's old uniform and pumped a load of it into his hand. 

“Easy,” Lister said and wrapped his palm around Rimmer. 

Rimmer jolted and hissed as if it hurt. 

“Slowly, slowly!” he said.

“What happened to hurry?” Lister said. 

“Shut up!”

Lister smirked and let go. He climbed back onto the seat to straddle Rimmer's lap and leant back to press into himself with his slick fingers. Rimmer swallowed and set his hands on Lister's hips. 

“Yeah?” Lister said.

Rimmer nodded, and Lister reached down to guide him. Rimmer's eyes bulged, pressed shut, then snapped open again, and he let out a choked cry of shock and pleasure. Lister sighed and smiled and started to move. 

“Okay?” he said. 

“I can't-I'm going to-I'm sorry-”

“Hey, it's fine, it's fine, we've got plenty of time.”

Rimmer's grip tightened. His feet slipped against the floorboards. Lister ground down to meet the arrhythmic movement of his hips. Rimmer cried out his name amidst wordless moans, then he was silent and shuddering. Lister kept grinding him through it while mouthing at his throat. 

Rimmer's moans returned, only soft and high, and he turned his head to press their faces together. He tugged at Lister's hips to raise and lower him in a movement that was almost deft, then reached around to replace the loss with two curled fingers. Lister swore and squirmed. He swore again, louder, when Rimmer's other hand closed around him. 

After all those years, after two deaths and one not quite-death-but-might-as-well-be, after finding each other in eternity, Rimmer still looked up at him with a pleading expression that said _please tell me I'm doing well_. 

Lister pulled him close to pant a litany of filth and praise into his ear. Rimmer sighed and shifted his head closer to Lister's mouth in a silent plea for it to never stop. Lister's words became less coherent but no less enthusiastic, and Rimmer's sighs morphed into little gasps of delight. He worked his fist and fingers faster until Lister's toes curled and his thighs clenched tight, and with one final groan he collapsed against Rimmer's chest.

***

The sun had set by the time they finished round two. Or rather, Lister's round two and Rimmer's rounds two and three. They had managed to make it to the bedroom. It was small, with the bed taking up most of the space, and the only other furniture was a wardrobe Lister assumed was full of starched white t-shirts and Hawaiian shirts, and a little armchair in the corner with a teddy bear sat on it. He looked clean and fluffy and nothing like he'd been flushed past a U-bend by whichever arsehole brother it was. Lister thought he would probably turn him to face away from the bed. 

There were several other rooms to explore, but for now, this was the only one that mattered. Lister lay between Rimmer's splayed thighs with his head resting on his stomach. He rubbed Rimmer's left knee, mindful that it had been hoisted over his shoulder for quite a long time, and wondered if they would even get aches and pains in this place. 

“I love you,” Rimmer said. 

“I love you too,” Lister said. 

He tilted his head to look up at Rimmer's face. From that angle it was all double chin and happiness, and it made his chest swell. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Sirs, we have guests!”

Rimmer's expression changed from a picture of bliss to bug-eyed horror. 

“Guests _plural_? Not the Cat?” Rimmer said, “who the smeg is it?”

Lister hoped it wasn't anyone from the old crew. One day he would venture up that hill to find Peterson, and Chen, and yeah Kochanski, as a mate, and he and McGruder would toast to being members of a very exclusive club, but not here. This was their home, and he would keep it separate for as long as Rimmer needed it to be. 

“It is the Cat, sir, but he's brought his lady friends.”

“How many?” Lister said. 

“Six, sir.”

“Once for each of his-”

“Don't say it,” Rimmer said, “please don't say it.” 

They could hear Kryten heading back down the corridor. He was musing aloud on the best way to arrange the six new chairs that had appeared downstairs. 

“We better get dressed,” Lister sat up. 

Rimmer pushed himself up on his elbows, but he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Lister and go to sleep. His hair may not have been as long, but it still had the capacity to look truly deranged, and the combination of his ruffled curls and tired face made Lister want to ease him back down and tell him not to worry. 

“Come on, let's get up,” he forced himself to say.

Rimmer just blinked blearily.

“We'll come straight to bed afterwards,” Lister said, “and I'll do that thing you said was gross but really liked.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rimmer's family are not on the island. They can fuck off.


End file.
